As Close As It Gets
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: Promptfic: Affectionate loveplay between H & W, some rare moment between adventures.


Promptfic: Affectionate loveplay between H & W, some rare moment between adventures.

0o0o

There's something about the way Holmes sleeps that would drive most human beings crazy. He clings, he flails out of nowhere and the snoring is quite out of the ordinary, at least for a slim man in what Watson knows is good health.

There's a small issue about drool on the pillows as well but Watson never mentions that because Holmes is vain and when you love someone, you allow certain little things to slip.

That's not to say everything is bad. Holmes talks in his sleep and between mumbling recitations of _News From Nowhere_ and the third volume of _Mechanical Inclines_, he often mentions Watson's name or better yet, he sighs _John_ over and over again, his lips curled into a beatific grin.

Watson is willing to forgive a lot of saliva for those moments.

Two days between travels, then another case that lasts three weeks and they are tired to the core. They spend the first day back home sleeping, most of the following evening having quiet, if passionate, encounters but now that most of their needs are satisfied, they are content to truly rest.

If only Holmes understood the meaning of 'rest'.

It takes some maneuvering but Watson finally pins him down, literally, lying atop him, his fingers skimming Holmes' lips, his lips skimming Holmes' forehead, cheeks and neck. This keeps Holmes' blathering to a minimum, as cases are fine while active but once they are done and written - at least in Watson's head - he's quite glad not to hear about them again.

"But the window sill at Bramwells," Holmes says. "I find it hard to believe that I was the only one to notice that leaf on the plaster."

"You're a genius," Watson replies. He nips at Holmes' lower lip, stopping him mid-vainglorious rendering. "You truly are. Now how about a glass of wine and a book to share? Or chocolates? I can easily run out and retrieve some for us."

"Chocolate has certain addictive properties I'd rather avoid," Holmes replies primly.

Watson stares at him. "I'm not going to dignify that with a proper answer." He rolls off with a sigh. "Turkish coffee? We still have the pot up on the bookcase there."

"I do enjoy being up and about all night."

It sounds like a threat. Watson quickly changes tact. "A lie in front of the fire? I can read to you."

Holmes makes a noncommittal noise and tips his head toward the grate where Gladstone sits, looking at them and thinking the thoughts only dogs know. "The beast will torment us with slobber and flatulence. He might get ideas of revenge in his head for certain ... experimental issues we've had in the past."

"You'd deserve it," Watson mutters. Try as he might, his favorite time, those precious moments of normality between cases is coming to an end and it's all Holmes' fault, stubborn sod that he is. "So, what do you want to do? Scan the papers for your next triumph or have you a letter waiting in your shoe already?"

"Not yet. I still want to discuss this last case." Tucking his hands beneath his head, Holmes' eyes start to gleam. "Particularly your part in it."

Annoyed and a little alarmed, Watson lies back and waits, suddenly feeling as if he's been put on trial. "I know I bumbled the part Bramwells' mistress played."

"You did," Holmes agrees readily, ignoring the half-embarrassed, half-angry flush that fills Watson's cheeks. "But that's not what I'm wishing to discuss. It's that moment you discovered and roundly clubbed Lord Bramwell behind the staircase, when my back was to him.

Watson turns on Holmes defensively. "What would you have had me do? He had a gun. I know it was _inconvenient_ for him to be unconscious at that point as far as you were concerned but I can't always make what you silently deem the perfect decision. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not perfect, Holmes. I have to do certain things in my own way or not at all."

There's a terse moment of silence between them and Watson is cursing inwardly for being foolish enough to think they could have just _one_ pleasant evening that wasn't about blasted cases. He's about to flip around on the bed and spend the night with his back to the insufferable bastard when said insufferable bastard stops him with a firm grip on his wrist.

"That's precisely the point, Watson." Holmes' voice turns impossibly tender, "Even though you might make a mistake here and there, there is nothing I'd have you do differently. Ever. Your errors sharpen my facts, your native insight allows me to follow different trains of thought. Your skills with certain weapons is not only hellishly convenient but a joy to watch. In short, you are as close to perfection as a companion of mine could ever be."

It isn't quite a declaration of love but it's more than Watson is likely to hear should they live together until their dotage. The admission makes his eyes widen, his pulse thrum wildly in his throat. Words fail him.

But not Holmes. Words never fail Holmes. "Now, about that chocolate I've been promised..."

"Go get it then," Watson whispers against his mouth. "I'm not your serving boy."

Holmes chuckles, his eyes mischievous and bright. "A shame that is. A true shame."

o0o0

end

Reviews are appreciated and keeps the muses' gears greased. ;)


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